


Shoulda Been Easy

by OraRiposo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Junkers - Freeform, Junkertown (Overwatch), M/M, roadrat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:06:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OraRiposo/pseuds/OraRiposo
Summary: Missin' leg...run-in with some junkers. Shoulda been an easy win. Shoulda...lots of shoulda's. Shoulda, coulda, woudla. Bet Hog's never gonna let me live this one down.





	Shoulda Been Easy

Living in the outback was never easy. Creepity crawlies waiting to sneak in your drawers in the night, up your nose, in your ears. Gives me the willies. Could be trollin’ around one day minding your own business and _boom_ , sun boils your brain. Three days later, you’re flatter than roadkill, waiting for some poor bugger to trip over ya.

  
Nowadays, livin’ in the outback still ain’t easy. It’s still hot as balls, but the heat’s the least of your troubles. The apocalypse might look good on someone as dashing as myself, but it’s hard on everyone else. There’s a filthy grime coatin’ everythin’ around ya, on your skin, on your clothes. You find dirt caked under your nails and between your teeth, if ya’ve got any left. You check trousers for holes where a scorpion could crawl in, plug your ears with wads of whatever you have to keep spiders out. I used cotton from an old, dried out nappie once--don’t ask me where I found it, I won’t fuckin’ tell ya.

  
Life’s hard out here, but it’s home. The sun bakes everythin’ around ya til it’s crispity and crunchity, like your skin after a midnight dip in a questionable puddle. The people are just as crispity and crunchity, gritty like a can of beans ya left on the fire too long but it’s all ya got left. But there’s no one out there as hard as the junkers. Rude, crude, takin’ no ‘tude from anyone. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
Except the thievin’ little shits can’t keep their fuckin’ mitts off anything that ain’t bolted to the ground!

  
The patchwork bikes and buggies the fuckers drove in on kick up dust like nobody’s business, a red, choking cloud that clogs my eyes, burns my throat as I hang off the back of my driver.

  
“Stay right there, I’ve got something for you!” I cry, grabbing onto one of the straps of Hog’s getup. The big lug really does come in handy sometimes, I’ll say that much. Right then, he was keepin’ me from flyin off the handle--literally. We weave back and forth to avoid pricklies and bigass rocks, keepin’ up pretty good. But these junkers know the way just like us, we’re evenly matched!

  
I hold up my frag launcher and give ‘er a wave, cackling as I’m jostled side to side. “This bomb’s for you!” I lob a couple frags at the bastards, cursing as the recoil damn near knocks me off the bike. Hog growls behind his mask, but I give him a thunk on the back of ‘is noggin. “Try not to get us killed, would ya!” I shout. He proves just how bitchy he can be when he’s in a mood and veers to the right, knowing there ain’t nothin' there to keep me balanced.

  
“Ah yer just as bad as them!” I snarl, aiming to fire another frag, only to suddenly be launched forward into Hog’s massive back as he hits the brakes. The air’s knocked out of me by the back of his head squishing my innards, and I only just manage to hold on by grabbing hold of one of the spikes on his shoulder-tire. “The fuck was--”

  
The explosion is enough to rock us back on the bike, and I fall ass over tea kettle right into Hog’s waiting arms. He turns his head and brings a massive forearm up to shield me, and I know the frag mine one of the bastards threw hurts, because I hear him grunt and feel a flinch rock through his gut. But he drops me off the side of the bike and tears off after ‘em.

  
“Oi!” I shriek after him, but I can’t tell how loud I am. Fuckin’ mine’s left a ringer in my ear like a buzzin bee, can’t hear shit past it. “You _forgot_ somethin!” I would’a taken my leg off and thrown it after ‘im if the thievin junkers hadn’t fuckin’ nicked it.

  
I flop down in the dirt and just lay there, coughin’ as the dirt burns my lungs. Don’t bother me most times, but I only just woke up when those lowlifes went tearin ass ‘cross the desert with my peg. Coulda just asked me to make ‘em one, then at least I’d’ve gotten to beat ‘em over the head with something heavy before they took off.

  
Before I start roasting too bad, I hear a coughing, sputtering engine headed my way, but it don’t sound familiar. The one I fixed up for hog is a lot...explodier. Sounds like it’s about to blow any second--this one’s too healthy, sounds more like an engine oughtta sound.

  
I sit up and see a spec in the distance, followed by a huge cloud of red dust, and my heart skips a beat. That ain’t Hog...he’d be honkin that dumbass horn of his, and it’s hard to miss someone as big as him.

  
“Shit shit shit!” I twist around so I’m on my hands and knee, and I grab my frag launcher. No way this shithead’s gonna get the best of ol’ Junkrat. No sir, not if I got even an ounce of TNT left on me.

  
As soon as the junker’s close enough for me to look at ‘er ugly, smug face, I launch a frag. It bounces off a rock and explodes a couple meters off course. I fire another, and it explodes right in front of her wheel, but the wanker rides right over it like nothin’ happened. I reach for more ammo and find nothing. My shit’s still back at the campsite. We left in such a hurry, I didn’t grab my fuckin’ ammo! Stupid stupid _stupid_! This is why I have Hog, he’s s’posed to be the brains and remind me of this shit!

  
The junker’s getting closer, the rumble of her engine vibrates in my chest like some kinda beast playin’ drums on my ribs. She’s almost on me, and I ain’t gettin’ any younger, so I haul my ass up by the strap of my dusty boot and flip her all the birds I got. “Get stuffed, baby!”

  
All things considered, I’m feeling pretty good right now. Coulda been starin’ down the Queen herself and shovin’ my middles right up her royal nose. Except this queen has greasy hair and a mouthful of rotted teeth. And jus’ ta top it all off, she’s got a long ass chain danglin’ from one hand, and a look in ‘er eye like she knows how to use it.   
Give Hog a group o’ assholes and some room to work, he’ll have ‘em strung up prettier than the twinklies on Christmas eve. But he ain’t fancy about it. This besse’s twirlin’ her chain like it owes her money, smackin’ the ground with it as she bears toward me. I know what she’s doin’, an’ I don’t want any part of it.

  
“Roadie!” I howl, looking around for any sign of ‘im. “Now’s a great time to swoop in like some bigass bird and _save me_!” I turn tail and run like a bat outta hell--or I would’ve if the fuckin’ junkers hadn’t--ah jaysus, you know what I mean.

  
I manage a couple good hops before the broad catches up with me, and when she does she’s already had plenty of time to figure out how to gank me. Hot dirt and dust flies up as she cuts in front of me, blinding my blinkers, clogging my sniffer. I wave my arms in the air so she can’t get the chain round my neck--prolly woulda been a solid plan...if me fuckin’ arm weren’t a bucket of bolts too.

  
The chain flings out from the cloud and I yelp as it wraps round my right wrist. She revs her engine and tears off, bringing my arm with and jerking me right off my foot. I feel the straps holdin’ it in place snap and fall away, leavin’ me in the dirt.

“Ay! Tha’s mine!” I cry, but a lost arm’s the least of my worries. I hear the sickly, rattlin’ croak of Hog’s bike comin’ near, and I know as soon as he’s close enough he’s gonna start shootin’. Ain’t no way he’ll be able to see me in all this. I’m trinya get up, but down an arm and a leg, it’s hard goin’. Gotta be careful--last thing I need’s a hand or a stump fulla prickles from a cactus.

Somethin’ stings my ass and I howl as burning shrapnel gets caught in my shorts. I hadn’t heard the shot from Hog’s gun. I’ve never dropped my trousers so fast in my life, an’ it’s a good fuckin’ thing I didn’t wear my skivvies. I give ‘em a good shake before I pull ‘em right back up my legs, cursin’ the dirt that’s rubbin’ my bits ‘n pieces raw.

Now I can hear the scrap gun, four more shots and a wild, snorting laugh before he’s gotta reload. The sound of the bikes makes me ears ring and I can barely hear myself not think. “Hog! Stop it ya--” The dust’s finally too much and my lungs give me a solid ‘fuck you’ as they try climbin’ out my throat.

The coughing must’ve been what did it. Gave her enough to pinpoint me in the cloud. And somehow, between veering this way and that on a bike that must’ve been as clogged as my pipes and dodgin’ Hog’s wild shots, she managed to hook me round the throat. The damn chain didn’t even have the decency to be cold when it hit me, hot and burnin’ as it wrapped round so tight I couldn’t get my fingers under it if I tried. I still fuckin’ tried, don’t count me out yet. Bastard didn’t budge. I couldn’t see nothing’--fumblin’ pointers ain’t good when your brain’s wonderin’ where all the air’s got to.

Everythin’ goes quiet. I see the hulking shadow of Roadhog on his bike, the barrel of his scrap gun pointed right at my head. Me eyes burn as they search his mask...sometimes I can catch a glimpse of my friend’s baby blues behind the mask, but that wasn’t gonna happen today. He starts to lower his gun, turning his bike toward me, but it’s too late. We both know it.

“Mako,” I choke out just as the chain snaps taut and drags me away.

“No!” he bellows, and suddenly the world’s gone all black. I remember thinkin’ one last thought before passin’ out: Fuck these motherfuckin’ junkers. 


End file.
